


Shatter

by GraeWrites



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickness, Sleep Deprivation, foot injury, minor but still, not strictly romantic but kind of at the end gets a little flirty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraeWrites/pseuds/GraeWrites
Summary: Glass shatters at their feet seconds before Virgil plummets to the ground.





	Shatter

**Author's Note:**

> Still transferring stuff from Tumblr onto this account here. ^u^ Prompt taken was “Catch me.” “What?” [first person collapses]. Hope you like it! Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Roman pushes back from his desk with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. He looks at the large wall clock between the two balcony doors in his bedroom. Almost 2 in the morning, and very little to show for it. The stack of ideas sitting in a pile on his desk is dwarfed by the overflowing wastebasket of wadded papers with half-constructed ideas that Roman knew—even before running them by Logan and Thomas—wouldn’t be viable. It… had not been a productive night. But Thomas is supposed to sit down with Joan and work out a script with them tomorrow. Roman needs to have ideas to give to Thomas when he wakes up.

Roman groans, irritated with himself. He needs a break, however brief it may need to be. He stands, running his fingers through his hair again to fix its disheveled state. Even in pajama pant, slippers, and a white t-shirt, a prince still has to slay.

He makes his way to the kitchen, remembering Patton boxing up some leftover homemade cookies the Moral Side had made the other day. Perhaps a small jolt of sugar was just what he needed to get a few more good ideas so he wouldn’t turn up empty handed when Thomas woke up in the morning.

He slows to a stop in the kitchen entryway. Virgil stands in the middle of the room holding a glass of water. His hood is drawn over his hair but even in the dark, Roman can tell how startlingly  _pale_  the Anxious Side is.

“Virgil?”

Roman takes a step closer, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. A lamp from the adjacent room bleeds into the kitchen and Roman can see his long bangs plastered to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat. When Virgil looks up at him, his eyes are glassy. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Roman takes another, more tentative, step towards him. “Virgil, when was the last time you slept?”

Virgil blinks a few times. “I… uh…” His brows pull together. “I don’t… remember…” His voice is quiet and distant, like he’s talking more to himself than to the Prince.

Roman quietly chews his lip for a moment. Virgil doesn’t just look  _tired_ , he looks  _sick_. “Alright, Marilyn Morose,” he says with feigned flippancy, crossing over to him, “let’s get you to—“

“ _Roman_.” Virgil’s voice cuts him off but something about his voice sounds  _wrong_. Roman stops short just as he sees the cup slip through Virgil’s fingers.

It shatters into splinters of reflective glass at their feet with a deafening crash. The sound slices through the still, quiet night air with a vengeance.

“Vir—!”

“Catch me.” Virgil’s voice sounds tight and faint and strangled.

“What?”

But it’s already too late. Virgil’s hand fists desperately in the sleeve of Roman’s white v-neck t-shirt as he pitches forward. Roman yelps in surprise, doing his best to catch him. It’s an awkward entanglement of limbs but the Prince manages to keep the Anxious Side from collapsing entirely into the shattered glass around them.

“Virgil?” Roman asks, alarm surging up his throat. Virgil stays slumped in his arms, unconscious.

The thoughts plow through Roman like a freight train. Questions and scenarios and potential outcomes rip across his mind with almost frightening intensity, each scenario worse than the last. Can they die in the mindscape? Could Virgil lose himself, dissipating into nothingness slowly? Images flash through Roman’s mind of Virgil, pale and fading and Roman beside him and entirely unable to stop it, to keep him here, to keep—

“Roman?” Patton’s concerned voice snatches his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Patton,” Roman replies, relieved. “I don’t know what happened. He didn’t look good and then he just collapsed, and—“

“He’s bleeding,” says another voice. Logan, coming up behind Patton in the entryway. Roman looks down, and sure enough, Roman can see a few cuts along Virgil’s feet and blood mixing into the water pooled amidst the glass on the floor.  The Prince swallows. How did he not notice that before? Virgil isn’t even wearing socks.

“Lo, grab the first aid kit?” Patton asks, his dark eyes worried and serious. He pulls the hood of his cat onesie off his head. Without another word, Logan makes a beeline for the bathroom to grab it out from under the sink.

With a quiet grunt, and as carefully as he can, Roman shifts Virgil weight to sweep an arm under the Anxious Side’s knees and one braced against his back. He picks him up, carefully avoiding the glass on the floor as he carries him into the commons.

Roman frowns. Virgil feels lighter than he should.

Patton follows behind him as Roman gingerly sets the unconscious Side down on the couch. He lifts Virgil’s head and pulls the hood down—he looks too hot and the hoodie can’t be helping him—before pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. He  _is_  hot and clammy to the touch. Absently, he brushes Virgil’s bangs out of his face before pulling his hand back.

“He’s warm, Patton.”

He feels Patton squeeze his shoulder. “He’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s sick and sleep deprived, but we’ll all take care of him.”

It’s not until then that Roman realizes how hard his heart is still hammering in his chest. The constricted way Virgil had said his name—had told Roman to catch him—echoes in the back of his mind.  _He’ll be okay, kiddo_. Roman glances at Patton skeptically.

He doesn’t say anything, however, as Logan comes back into the room with the first aid kit in his hands and a towel. The Logical Side calmly and wordlessly sits at Virgil’s feet, pulling out tweezers, antiseptic, cotton balls, and bandages. Logan gingerly takes Virgil’s ankle, glancing at his face to make sure he hasn’t woken, before examining the few cuts along his foot.

Patton moves to sit on the arm of the couch by Virgil’s head, soothingly brushing his fingers through his hair. Roman catches the concern that wells in his eyes at, Roman assumes, feeling the heat radiating off of the unconscious Side.

Roman anxiously clears his throat. “Logan?”

“Hm?” Logan doesn’t look up as he grabs the tweezers and pulls a small shard of glass out of Virgil’s foot. Roman winces and averts his gaze.

“Uh, how’s it looking, Doc?”

Logan adjusts the frame of his glasses. “Well, I cannot speak for his apparent illness. Aside from a few small pieces of glass and some bleeding, the injuries on his feet are comparatively minor and should not be a dramatic hindrance to his overall wellbeing.”

“He’s definitely got a fever,” Patton adds, pressing his palm to Virgil’s forehead again. “I wish he’d told us he was sick.”

“It is entirely possible that he did not realize the severity of his own illness,” Logan replies, “and did not want to concern us. Regardless, I agree with you, Patton.”

“ _Severity_?” Roman repeats.

“We will have to keep an eye on him and monitor his progress.” Logan pauses, securing a bandage around Virgil’s foot before looking up at the Prince. “It was quite fortunate that you came into the kitchen when you did. Otherwise, it’s entirely possible Virgil’s current condition would be much more precarious.”

“He told me to catch him.”

“Which is exactly what you did, kiddo,” Patton responds gently.

Except he didn’t. Not enough anyway. The proof of that is right there in Logan’s hands as he begins inspecting Virgil’s other foot. Roman swallows, suddenly unable to look away as Logan dabs a cotton ball against one of the cuts along the ball of his foot.

“How did I not realize how bad off he was?” Roman asks to nobody in particular.

Patton’s hand stills in Virgil’s hair momentarily. A flash of regret crosses his eyes. “He’d been keeping to his room more, and every once in a while I’d heard him up at odd hours of the night. But I thought maybe it was just stress, y’know? From Thomas’s upcoming performances and travel schedule. I didn’t realize he was sick on top of it all.”

“I, too, had noticed a change,” Logan admits. “His diet seemed to have dwindled dramatically the past few days. And I suspected that he may not have been sleeping particularly well. But I had presumed that if anything was truly amiss, he would inform at least one of us. Had he done so, we likely would not be in this situation.” He finishes securing the last bandage on Virgil’s foot, gingerly setting it down on the couch as he slides out from under his feet.

Roman nods, his dark eyes still trained on Virgil’s pale face. “You guys should get some sleep. I can stay with him until he wakes up.”

“Roman, I don’t mind—“

“Ah, I’m gonna be up anyway, Padrè,” Roman says, hoping his voice sounds more lighthearted than he feels. “You both should get some shut-eye before Les Miserablès here wakes up.”

Patton glances to Virgil and then back at Roman. There’s a look in his eyes that Roman doesn’t quite understand and he smiles softly. “All right, kiddo. If you need help or anything, just come find me, okay?”

“Likewise,” Logan adds, looking exhausted but nevertheless sincere. “Although I have the upmost faith in your ability to take care of Virgil while he sleeps.”

Roman feels some of the tightness in his chest ease slightly at their assurances. He offers them a faint smile and nods. “Thank you. To both of you.”

Patton returns his smile with a warm, albeit tired, one of his own. He squeezes Roman’s shoulder before both he and Logan sink out to grab a few hours more of sleep. Roman stays standing in the middle of the commons for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of Virgil’s chest. He’s still pale and sweaty but he’s  _breathing_  and both Logan and Patton seem to think he’ll be okay in a few days and that’s what really matters, isn’t it?

If both the Dad and Voice of Reason aren’t considering the worst case scenarios, then perhaps Roman shouldn’t be either. Being Creativity made that harder, but he could try. Besides, letting too much negative Creativity take over his thoughts had the potential to make Virgil’s recovery a bit harder. And after tonight, the last thing Roman wants to do is worsen the Anxious Side’s state.

Roman glances around the room. Virgil isn’t awake to take any medicine, but there had to be a way for him to help somehow. Logan had taken care of the injuries already. But he still had a fever, and the heat practically rolled off the Side in waves. He even  _looks_ uncomfortable, even though he’s unconscious. The Prince purses his lips before an idea occurs to him.

He glances at Virgil once more before conjuring a washcloth and towel. He runs it under the bathroom faucet before quickly returning to the commons. As gently and carefully as he can, the Creative Side lifts his head and sits on the couch. He drapes the towel across his legs before resting Virgil’s head in his lap and placing the cool, damp cloth on the Side’s forehead.

When Virgil’s eyes flutter open a few hours later, his nose brushes the thin cotton of Roman’s white shirt over his abdomen. He has no idea why his head is in Princey’s lap, or why the Creative Side looks so tired even as he gives him a soft grin.

“You’re awake.” Roman sounds…  _relieved_. It only confuses Virgil more.

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil blinks a few times against the sunrise streaming in through the blinds. He squints up at the Prince. “What… happened?”

“Y’know, Virge,” he says, still with that small, vaguely lopsided smile as he dabs something cold and wet against his forehead, “When people say they’re falling for someone, it’s usually a metaphor.”


End file.
